


Endnote

by pineovercoat



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: (yes both), ... it says regency but., Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Regency, Drunken Confessions, Established Relationship, Fluff, Innuendo, M/M, Married flirting, Schmoop, Slice of Life, Some Sensuality. like i said relentless innuendo, background terraqua, but like dripping in cheese whiz, pun warning, soriku alt universe bbc masterpiece theater unspecified period costume drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineovercoat/pseuds/pineovercoat
Summary: Aqua wins another round as they all watch- all except for Riku, who has forfeited three hands, two of which are the ones attached to his person, and needs to be reminded to pay attention, focused as he is on pilgrim kisses. He slips Sora’s left glove free, and Sora accelerates his rescue."Would you mind terribly if I borrowed Riku for a moment?" he asks."You can keep him," Terra declares, dry, as he folds his hand. "He's far too honorable to cheat and far too drunk to be any sort of worthwhile opponent."or, the one that's a handwavey soriku bbc costume drama featuring earnest (and kinda tipsy) Riku.
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 95





	Endnote

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hello. Didn't see you there. 
> 
> okay look I didn’t research a single thing. Not even a single token attempt at historical accuracy was made, from unspecified setting to very purple but probably still anachronistic dialogue. There was just one contextless rewatch of the alternate US ending to Pride and Prejudice 2005, some sweetberrywine, and the sensation of being completely possessed by a romance novel. this is the exorcism. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Riku in possession of regrets must be in want of a redemption arc. It is another truth universally acknowledged that a Sora in possession of no Riku must be in want of _it’s Riku, Riku’s here, I looked for you, I looked everywhere for you-_

After the better part of an hour ducking and weaving through old friends and belated well wishers, Sora finally finds Riku at a table on the terrace overlooking the gardens. He’s gesturing as Terra and Aqua laugh. Some of the buttons on his waistcoat are undone, and his cravat is loosened to the muggy summer air. There’s a flush high on his cheeks that could rival bordeaux, and his eyes are shining. They are playing cards. Aqua is winning. The whole thing seems delightfully improper and necessitates disapproval, and so Sora approves entirely. Still, he wants Riku to have no cause to be ashamed of himself, prone as he is to contemplation, so he intervenes.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Sora cuts in, though he isn’t. In the midst of all the appropriate formalities which Riku’s entire circle insists on dispensing with anyway, he claps a hand to Riku's shoulder, and it is pleasantly warm even through Sora’s gloves and Riku’s evening coat, so how could he be?

Riku leans into it readily, tugging his glove down just enough to place a kiss on Sora's wrist in plain sight of everyone. Sora smiles down at him, amused. Cause to be ashamed, indeed. He’s not normally so demonstrative. Well, Sora amends silently, that’s not exactly true. He’s quite prone to dramatic gestures, though he makes nothing of them and expects nothing in return. And as for the more tender kind, Riku's no stranger to affection- overflows with it, in fact- but never so publically. And yet Riku laces their fingers together, leaving Sora wondering just how much wine he’s enjoyed tonight.

Aqua wins another round as they all watch- all except for Riku, who has forfeited three hands, two of which are the ones attached to his person, and needs to be reminded to pay attention, focused as he is on pilgrim kisses. He slips Sora’s left glove free, and Sora accelerates his rescue.

"Would you mind terribly if I borrowed Riku for a moment?" he asks.

"You can keep him," Terra declares, dry, as he folds his hand. "He's far too honorable to cheat and far too drunk to be any sort of worthwhile opponent."

"Traitor," Riku replies, but he doesn't seem too bothered, occupied as he is with Sora's hand, and particularly the golden ring on his fourth finger. Sora feels a smile creep over his own face in response. More than a month has passed, and he’s still not used to it. “The real opponent here is Aqua-”

Terra grins, gathering up their cards. “ _Vitae_ -”

“ _And_ ,” Riku lifts his regal chin, somehow managing to look down at a man half a head taller than him, “the smartest option left to you was surrender.”

Terra’s expression flickers and goes soft like candlelight; he turns tender eyes on Aqua. “It certainly was.”

Sora’s ever-bleeding heart throbs; Riku’s fingers still not a moment later, anchoring him with a careful squeeze. His gaze fixes on him, green eyes bright. _Are you alright_? that look says, and Sora marvels again at the sharpness of Riku’s insight. He’s always checking in, not because there’s any reason he _shouldn’t_ be alright having a pleasant evening with the best company, but because he knows Sora’s heart is a particularly sensitive instrument; his joy strikes him just as hard as his pain. Riku steadies it, steadies him. Distantly, he feels his eyes grow hot.

“Don’t worry,” Aqua jokes gently, not so much dousing the moment as taking it into her care, shielding it from anyone who might extinguish its light. “I’m a gracious victor.” Her arm shifts the slightest bit in Terra’s direction. Without seeing it, Sora knows they’ve linked hands under the table. His face could crack with the smile that wants to burst forth; Aqua gives him the slightest nod.

Sora takes the cue to loudly makes their excuses, citing Riku’s jovial mood and assuring them they’ll be alright even as he coaxes Riku into rising. “I'll be sure to take good care of him.”

"I'd rather you didn't," Terra laughs, but waves them along courteously anyway. "Look at him. He’s brazen already. He'll be lazy as a housecat soon enough."

"Content enough to be," Riku replies blandly, shifting slowly upwards. He covers Sora's hand with his own, doing nothing to help Sora lift him, but everything to send his heart racing. “Or is the word ‘ _satisfied_ ’?” He fumbles about the table for Sora’s misplaced glove, a little smirk hovering about his lips all the while, the scoundrel.

Sora casts a somewhat desperate look at Aqua, who dutifully mixes pity into the composition of her smile. Perhaps it’s funny to her, finally witnessing someone on the other end of it. Half of him wants to kiss Riku and the other half wants jab him in the ribs before he gets any ideas. No doubt he’ll be searching for ways to out-do Terra’s little stunt all night.

"Can you stand?" asks Sora, mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Food and something light to drink, he decides. And, selfishly, a little time with Riku all to himself before he sets him loose on their friends again.

In response, Riku rises to his feet, glove in hand. Sora snatches it before he can decide to challenge anyone to a duel with it. Maybe he’ll save that gauntlet for himself, later.

Miraculously, Riku doesn’t fight him on it. "For you,” he pronounces solemnly, after a glance Terra and Aqua’s way, “I could walk on water.”

The faintly glazed shine to his eyes betrays him. Sora snorts, indulging himself in a roll of the eyes. _Proud man_. “Miracles, really?” he teases. “So early in the night?” Even if he were to tell Riku it wasn’t a competition, he would have none of it.

To their right, Sora sees Terra give Aqua a deeply amused look.

“Conquer the stairs first,” Aqua advises, with barely restrained laughter. It rings like a bell through her autumn-wind’s voice. “That will be miracle enough.”

Sora sketches a dutiful bow and a salute, then steers Riku away by the elbow. They barely make it inside and away from the low hum of festivities before Riku makes an intent, over-the-top bid for his hand again. Sora bites his lip to fight the rising tide of cheer and relents. As if he didn’t already promise at least that much to him already!

Faint strains of music accompany their barely choreographed waltz away from the party. They pass largely unbothered, save for smiles and waves. He’s not sure who pulls who into the darkened parlor room which is decidedly _not_ the kitchens, but he’s fine with where he ends up regardless- in the circle of Riku’s arms. He gives in to the ache that’s been nagging at him ever since he saw Terra look at Aqua and tucks himself tight against Riku. _Surrender_ , he thinks to himself, his heart full.

They sway like that for a few moments, curtained by the dark, before Riku breaks the silence.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says. He shakes his head, anticipating what Sora will say before he can even open his mouth to say it. “Somewhere _else_.” His brow furrows. “On an adventure.”

“I think we’re having a good one right now, Riku,” Sora answers, but Riku’s frown only deepens as he stoops to strip Sora of his remaining glove. That done, he makes short work of his own, threading their bare fingers together the very second he’s able.

“Perhaps I can tempt you into another Grand Tour,” he murmurs, squeezing Sora’s hand tight. Sora closes his eyes, taking in the comfort of those twin warmths: Riku’s wedding band between his fingers, and the sound of his voice. “A real one, this time,” he promises.

“Sailing away together… I think I’d like that.” Sora keeps it to himself just how much he’s dreamt of that exactly, of what it’d be like to travel the world with Riku rather than chase him across it, seeking to free him of the marionette strings that tied him to shadowy deeds and evil men. It would only cause him pain. He’s suffered so much already, and Sora refuses to be the source of any more.

“I’d make certain of it,” swears Riku, as though he’s heard Sora’s secret thoughts.

Sometimes, in moments like these, Sora truly believes he can. He can already feel the change in the air, the shift from playful to pensive gathering like a storm, and does his level best to curb it. He pitches his voice low.

“Really? And just how would you do that?” he says, wriggling backwards to give Riku a once-over.

It works like a charm.

“Have I been so forgettable?” His hands find Sora’s waist. “No matter. I’m more than happy to remind you.”

“Terra was right, you _have_ indulged yourself tonight,” Sora protests, snickering. In response, Riku leans forward, throwing his weight heavily onto him. Sora laughs even as he staggers under it.

“Maybe it’s time for you to retire for the evening,” he suggests, looping Riku’s arm about his shoulders. Their rooms aren’t far, even if there are still the stairs to contend with. His hands find the back of Riku’s trousers for support, and Riku shoots him a look from the corner of his eyes, speculative.

“I’m amenable to retiring,” Riku answers, infusing the words with no small amount of heat as he presses a kiss to Sora’s temple. “But you’re wrong. I haven’t yet begun to indulge myself.”

Sora rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but grin. His tone is awfully optimistic. There are hours left in the evening, and a house full of guests besides. "You've gotten silly," says Sora, hoping to distract him.

As if to prove Sora’s point, Riku tugs at his cravat. Sora fixes it, and Riku tugs it again, contrary. After a silent staredown, he breaks out into his own smile, one which has challenged, charmed, and vexed Sora since he was a boy. It’s his second favorite Riku smile, he thinks to himself, and he fervently hopes he’ll be graced with the first tonight, too. It’s much rarer.

Reaching out, Sora takes both ends of Riku's cravat in hand. He fusses over the length of silk, which gives him enough time to school his face into normal, something that won’t give Riku cause to worry. He’s completely ruined the knot. There’s no fixing it, save completely redoing it. And judging by the look on Riku's face, he considers this a tally mark on some private scorecard.

“You’re in high spirits,” Sora remarks wryly, working the fabric loose around careful dodges of Riku’s affection. He gives Riku a firm poke in the chest to still him. “Or maybe the spirits just agreed with you?”

“The wine was suitable,” Riku allows, settling down to watch Sora’s fingers dance about his neck. “But now I think I find myself craving other libations.” From his bearing to his tone, he’s taken on all the posturing of a lothario, but his gaze dips a little too long for his leer to be entirely jest.

“You're drunk,” Sora accuses, flushing. He throws the loose ends of the cravat over Riku’s shoulders like a scarf.

He muses over that. “Perhaps.” And then, with a look like wheels slowly turning, he smiles again. This is yet another one, a smile with a touch of self-conscious irony, and it draws Sora like a lure. He knows that particular twist to his mouth well- Riku wants desperately to say something he believes is true, but is too shy to admit to thinking with any real sincerity. Sora doesn’t mind it. He grew up on tales of adventure, and his favorites were always and still remain stories of pirates on the high seas; he knows well that the best treasure is always buried.

“Perhaps,” Riku repeats. “But only on you.”

“On _me_?” Sora makes a face. Maybe maudlin was the better charge to press.

“Mm,” he responds, nodding gravely, sagely, like some wise man. It contrasts impeccably with the sheen of liquor in his eyes. Near fits, Sora watches as Riku takes up his hand, and with a kiss to the wrist declares him his “ _own light._ ”

“You and your poetics.” Sora shakes his head, as if to divest himself of the glowing laurels. He darts up, smacking a silly kiss to the silly tip of Riku's silly nose. “I’m afraid I’ll never understand.”

“ _Understand_?” Riku argues, dipping down to return the favor. His kisses brush over his brow, his cheeks, his jaw. “What is there to understand? You’re well versed in the subject already. You could teach me.”

“ _Really?_ ” An indulgent smile twists over Sora’s face.

Riku takes a deep breath and oh, he’s assured a lecture now. He can’t wait. Sora tucks himself closer, the better to take it in, and Riku loops him in around the waist with his free hand almost absentmindedly as he thinks.

Sora helps him along as best he can, using his thumbs to sweep encouragement back and forth over Riku’s proud cheekbones, which his good cheer tinge a deep rose, plainly visible despite the low light. That glow catches, sparking in his eyes. It even appears to illuminate the fall of his hair, the soft, pointed ends of it glancing over his jawline. All of him burns bright, even in the dark.

He’s really not so bad off, Sora decides, as he tips his cheek to accept the kiss currently throwing Riku off his course. He’s just... relaxed. It’s not so late that they couldn’t return to the party, not that he particularly wants to anymore. He loves seeing all their friends, and doesn’t want to come across as unsocial or ungracious, but being this close to Riku, joking and teasing as they retreat into their own private world- he treasures these moments above all others. Moments like these, when he can really take in just how Riku looks at him when he has no fear or regret, like they’re children of five and six again and the worst they’ve done to each other can be smoothed over with the promise of sweets or a foot-race across the fields or kissing it better. Maybe sometimes, after all the heartbreak, it really is that easy.

He looks so healthy, so happy. Better than those dark days they’re both doing their best to leave behind, when his skin looked starved of the sun, and the man himself starved of hope. Once, it seemed like he’d be lost to them, to the despair, forever. Now, he holds Sora close in the dark parlor of their home and uses that quiet intelligence of his to pun mercilessly. Simple joys. Storybook endings.

No, Sora thinks, his heart awfully full, there’s really no need for further miracles- Riku’s already returned from his own ashes.

“Well?” Sora prompts him, fond. He slides the length of silk from Riku’s shoulders, holding it loosely in his palms. “Am I supposed to have a lesson ready? I definitely don’t, not on such short notice.” Or any notice, he adds privately.

Something in Riku’s expression shifts, a curious quality that makes Sora feel as if he is just surfacing from underwater. He takes another breath, and begins.

“Poetry,” he asserts, “is good.” He lays down the statement confidently, as though he is explaining a proof to a colleague. “ _You_ are good, fundamentally. And like all things good, it comes to you easily, without pretense. It doesn't have to be art, or any of the artifice therein, when it is simply your nature.”

Sora stills, taken aback. Pressing the advantage, Riku takes Sora’s hands in his. As Sora watches, he loosely winds the length of rumpled silk about their linked hands. A handfasting. He swallows and stares up at his husband.

Riku speaks low and level as he binds himself to Sora again in this quiet little ritual, with only each other as witness. The distant sounds of the party fade away entirely. All Sora can hear is their own breathing, the rhythmic rasp of silk, and Riku’s vows.

“You are already everything words could ever hope to capture,” Riku tells him. “What could compare? Not the greatest verse in any book, now and into perpetuity.” He makes a thoughtful noise as he attempts to tie the fabric off in a loose knot one-handed. “But we can’t be too harsh on language. It never anticipated you.”

At an utter loss for words himself, Sora reaches to help him. Working together, they create a simple bow. Once finished, Riku bends to whisper a sweet-nothing that feels more like prayer than endearment. He draws back, meeting Sora’s astonished gaze.

“One can't glorify a sunrise anymore than a sunrise glorifies everything around it by simply existing,” he says, eyes wide and searching, like _Sora_ is the one to be in awe of, here, in this moment.

“ _Riku_ ,” Sora breathes. Under the fabric joining them, Riku’s fingers are steady and strong. They’re perhaps the only reason he’s still standing.

“This earth is full of wicked things and all manner of darkness, but the sun blesses it every day regardless.” He presses a kiss against Sora’s forehead, whispering, low and soft and so, so warm. “I have my dark nights, too, and you transform them. You choose to believe in the good in me. You bring it to light, so I can see it, and believe in it, too.

“You _forgave_ me,” Riku marvels, eyes flickering over Sora’s face, and then he smiles Sora’s first-favorite smile, the one that bloomed even in the most barren of earth and has only flourished since, true and small and just for him. “You gave me tomorrow, Sora. I can never thank you enough.” His voice wavers. “For as long as you’ll have me, please allow me to share it with you.”

_As long as-_ he doesn’t have Riku’s tendency to the poetic, or else he’d spin something lovely and a little bit exasperated about their rings and closed circles and-

“Of course,” Sora chokes. “Forever, Riku, you’re completely _ridiculous_ , of _course_ -”

Struggling for a hold on himself, he flings himself against Riku’s chest. Their arms are crushed between them- Sora carefully extricates them from the cloth, pressing Riku’s hand to his face as he hiccups. Riku holds it there, his touch light on Sora’s wrist. They breathe like that, breathe together and nothing more, until Sora finally settles.

With a deep breath for daring, he tucks a kiss against Riku’s pale throat. His hands are steady as he bundles it up under cotton and silk for safekeeping. Riku watches him all the while, something in his eyes kind enough to make him want to lay down all pretense, every weapon and wall left to him.

Sora knows his own strengths, and once he understands his heart, he has no problems speaking it plainly.

“I love you,” he says, so full of the feeling it threatens to drown him, though he knows Riku would never let it. But still, he has to set it free, let it spill from his heart and mouth before it flows from his eyes. This is not the first time, it is probably far past the hundreth, but each time the words grow sweeter, better with practice and with time. It doesn’t grow old, but softens like leather to a perfect fit, protecting him, making him better, too- like all things worth fighting for.

Riku kisses him then, and the night fades away into tomorrow, into forever.

**Author's Note:**

> ✌️ viva la darcy riku ✌️


End file.
